Patches
was cold. The wind whipped his thick, tangled mane and stung his eyes. There
was frost on the ground, but it covered only hard, cracked dirt -- there wasn't
a single blade of grass or weed to be found. Patches was very hungry and thirsty,
too. Occasionally a person who was not his master would throw hay into his large,
barren pasture and there was a stream that meandered through the south end,
but it was little more than a trickle. Patches had not seen his master in a
long time. But he didn't miss the young man: to him, the master meant only harsh
words and stinging blows on his head and tender ears. Patches shivered as images
of the boy flashed through his mind, and he shifted on his cracked hooves. The
icy ground made his frogs feel numb. He licked his lips, thinking about the
food that sometimes came.
Once, a long
time ago, food had come to him in the form of warm, tasty milk. He could feed
whenever he wanted to, then. After that he only ate twice a day, but he knew
when the food would come, and he learned to anticipate its arrival. The food
was so good in those days. He got hay and sweet pellets, and sometimes he even
got to graze on fresh green grass. His mouth watered at the memory. And the
carrots! Oh, those were the best. The old master, a soft-spoken female, had
given him many carrots and spent time with him almost every day. He'd looked
forward to her visits, and enjoyed learning the lessons she'd taught him: first
to wear the strange contraption his head, then to follow her gentle tugs on
the rope. After that he learned to stand tied, and after that to move in all
his gaits in a circle around her. He'd quite enjoyed those days, and never had
any notion that life could be different.
Some time later,
after he'd learned to carry the old master on his back, other people came to
ride him. One of them was his now master; the boy had been kind then, and Patches
hadn't minded following him into the horse trailer at all. If only he'd known!
But, he was powerless. He knew he was stronger than the young man -- and he'd
proved it by pitching the boy off his back after being hit with a whip between
his ears -- but still, he was powerless. The boy had simply tied Patches to
a tree and hit him again. Patches learned to endure the beatings and tried to
do what was asked of him. Still, nothing seemed to please the now master.
After awhile
the boy ceased to come and ride him. At first Patches had been relieved, but
then the boy also ceased coming to feed him. Oh, he still got a few scraps now
and then, but when the weather turned ugly the boy couldn't be bothered with
coming outside. Patches ate all the weeds he could find, then went to work on
the solitary tree with which he shared his pasture. Once the bitter bark was
gone, there was nothing left. Mostly he stayed still, bored, listless, tired...
but sometimes he searched the parameters of his prison, looking for a way out
of his misery. He watched horseless carriages go by on the highway that ran
past his pasture, and wondered if one of them contained his old master. A nice
woman got out of one of those vehicles and came to him occasionally. She brought
food petted the tip of his nose (although she seemed nice, Patches was afraid
to allow her to come any closer), but it wasn't nearly often enough.
***
Clarissa wanted
a horse of her own more than anything in the world. She'd been working at the
local fast-food restaurant for the past six months now, and she had almost enough
money saved up for a really good horse. (Of course, any horse was a "really
good horse" in Clarissa's mind!) She worked full-time during her summer
vacation, but now that school was back in session she'd had to drop down to
part-time. Her mother had promised that she would pay the monthly board if Clarissa
could come up with the purchase price, and if she would keep a part-time job
to pay for any emergency vet bills.
Christmas was
coming up, and Clarissa avidly pored over the horse sales fliers, which were
full to overflowing with "Christmas Ponies" and "Holiday Horses".
They were all so expensive! Mom had told her to wait, knowing that unwanted
equine Christmas presents would end up for sale cheap a few months down the
road, but Clarissa could hardly contain herself.
***
"Isn't your
daughter looking to buy a horse?" A co-worker asked Joanne Gold one day
in mid-November.
"Yes,"
Joanne replied. "Clarissa has been asking every stable, private or public,
to keep a stall open for her! I told her to wait till after the holidays, but
you know teenagers: a month can seem like an eternity."
"Well, I
know of a large pony," said the co-worker. "He lives in a big pasture
on the outskirts of town. I drive by him almost everyday, picking my kids up
from school, and he just keeps getting thinner and thinner. His hips are like
door-knobs with fur, and his mane is like a macramé plant-hanger. It's
pathetic. I bring the poor fellow some hay from my neighbor's place whenever
I can, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to call HorseAid pretty soon. He's really
been suffering in this cold, and no one seems to be taking care of him at all
now."
"That's
awful!" cried Joanne. She wasn't a horse fanatic like her daughter, but
she hated to think of any animal suffering. "If nobody feeds him or pays
attention to him, maybe they'd like to sell him. Where is this pony?"
***
Patches followed
the stranger up to the horse trailer, though he was frightened. He planted his
feet and snorted once, but the master was standing nearby holding a long, black
whip. Once time when he'd refused to move on, the master had yelled at Patches
and beat him with that very same whip. Patches decided to go into the trailer
even though he was afraid. Although he was not happy living in the cold, barren
pasture, he was still unwilling to leave it: it was home, and it was all he'd
known for so long. What if an even worse fate awaited him?
He rode in the
dark, rocking box for what seemed like forever, but finally it stopped for good
and the stranger came to him once again. The door was opened and Patches backed
out. He couldn't believe his eyes: horses everywhere! He'd been separated from
his own kind for so long, he didn't know what to make of this unexpected turn
of events. He nickered joyously, "Hello!" Though his long, overgrown
feet pained him, he still managed to prance a bit as he followed the stranger
to a breezeway barn. Although the enclosure was much smaller than the pasture
he was used to, Patches instantly preferred it because it had soft, yellow straw
on the floor of the enclosed part, and outside he was flanked on either side
by herd members -- he instantly felt safe and secure being close to them. And
best yet: he had ever-present water in a bowl that refilled itself even as he
drank, and fresh, green alfalfa was placed at his feet.
The days passed,
and Patches saw more of the stranger, who he began to think of as 'the woman'.
She wasn't really a master, as she never required any tasks of him, but she
did cut off his tangled mane, brushed his coat, and saw to it that his long
feet were trimmed back. He liked the woman, and he was happy -- but sometimes
he got lonely and thought about the old master, the one who brought him carrots.
***
Joanne was almost
like a kid at Christmas herself. She'd rescued (or bought, depending upon your
perspective) the gelding, Patches, on November 28. She took him to a public
stable and paid his board up for the next month -- after December 25 it would
be Clarissa's responsibility, at least partially. Now she found herself almost
unable to wait for the big holiday to share the surprise with her daughter.
Perhaps it was the papers in her hand that brought home the reality: the stable
owner, Susie, had told Joanne it might be fun to surprise Clarissa with the
pony's registration papers on Christmas morning, all wrapped up in a present
box. Susie had gotten her first horse just like that from her parents, and she
said she'd never forget it. So Joanne sent off for the papers right away and
they had been mailed a couple of weeks later to Susie just in case Clarissa
decided to start checking the mail at home herself. Now it was December 22 and
the big day couldn't have seemed any further away!
***
Joanne and Clarissa
sat beside the tall, beautifully decorated tree on the morning of December 25,
drinking cocoa and opening their presents. Clarissa's dad had sent a few for
each of them, as had Joanne's parents. Of course there were gifts from friends,
co-workers and school-mates, but the best were always those that mother and
daughter gave to each other. And as such, they were saved for last. Joanne oohed
and ahhed over Clarissa's gift to her, but was even more eager to see
Clarissa's reaction to her gift.
Clarissa took
the big box and shook it. "Hmmm," she said. "It's light as a
feather and doesn't make a sound." She carefully removed the wrap, fastidious
as ever, and the plain brown box was exposed. "Hmmm..." she said again,
clearly puzzled, as she removed the tape and opened the box. Rifling through
the layers of tissue paper, she finally exposed the treasure: a green and gold
parchment certificate bearing the legend: International Generic Horse Association.
"What's this...?" she muttered, reading on. Pretty Patches was the
registered horse. He was a Pinto gelding. And he was owned by... Clarissa Gold!
Clarissa jumped up and threw her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her
on cheek saying, "Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you," until the words
almost became nonsense.
"Don't thank
me till you've seen him," said Joanne. "He's not your dream horse.
He's still very skinny and he acts as though he's afraid of people, but I just
couldn't resist..." She then proceeded to tell her daughter about how she'd
found the abused pony and Clarissa loved him already.
***
It was an unusual
morning. Patches was fed and greeted as usual, but this time he heard festive
music playing and people were saying "Merry Christmas!" to each other.
What did it mean? Later on, one of his neighbors got carrots which came out
of a red and white stocking. His neighbor's master said "Merry Christmas"
to him, but not to Patches. Patches' mouth watered at the smell of the carrots,
but he got none; he was too shy to stick his muzzle out and "ask" for some -- he was afraid a hard hand would hit his tender nose and didn't dare
take the chance.
Then he heard
the woman's voice. And another -- a younger female. They came up to his stall
and the younger one said, "Hello, Patches," and "Merry Christmas!" She reached out to pet him, but Patches didn't know her or what she wanted --
he backed out of range just in case. The girl opened the stall door and stepped
in. Patches backed up again, but then he saw the plush stocking in her hand
and smelled the juicy carrots. He flicked his ears back and forth -- what to
do? The girl talked to him softly, just like the old master. She reached up
slowly and petted his neck, which he preferred; he wasn't sure what humans were
going to do when they made for his delicate muzzle, and those stinging slaps
hurt there more than almost anyplace else.
Patches waited
patiently for the carrots, and when they came he savored them, chewing slowly
and thoroughly. This was wonderful! The girl continued to pet him and speak
softly. He liked her. She put her arms around his neck and his heart quickened
-- but she only hugged him. He put his muzzle gently on her back and hoped that
she would be the new master.
"Not your
master," the girl whispered, as if reading his thoughts. "Your friend."
